


The Flare Up

by Elfqueen1955



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Drama, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfqueen1955/pseuds/Elfqueen1955
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even in the most cherished of committed relationships, tensions can fray and misunderstandings are bound to arise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Flare Up

_I celebrate the color of the heat/ you fill me with/ the blood beat you/ instill me with as suddenly/ as love_ \- June Jordan

***

Beta shift, ship's night aboard the _USS Enterprise_ , was always the serene time of any ordinary stardate the ship would experience. Barring the occurrence of something monumentally unusual, such as an unexpected attack or unprecedented celestial phenomenon, the generally mundane milk runs and prosaic bouts of starmapping tended to create an atmosphere of ennui and stability that had a tendency to lull the crew into a false sense of security.

The bridge functioned smoothly, with the confident members of beta shift's relief filling their assigned duties methodically, as though in dress rehearsal for a big performance. Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu, senior navigator of the great silver lady, sat comfortably in command's center seat, Lieutenant Bronwyn Glastonbury, Science Specialist recently transferred from the _USS Harbinger_ , ably filled Commander Spock's shoes as science officer, gazing quietly into the sensor viewer. Lieutenant Ferron Ferron Ferron, the communications specialist newly transferred to _Enterprise_ from the _USS Astral Queen_ , and only the third native of Teradis IV to be trained and deployed by Starfleet, sat primly at the communications console, deftly entering data with hir extremely long, delicate fingers. 

The Teradisians were full androgynes, a hermaphroditic species legendary for their advanced communications technologies. Their world had only been a member of the United Federation of Planets for less than one solar year. Lt. Ferron Ferron Ferron had proven to be an invaluable member of the crew of the _Enterprise_ during the past four months of hir service there, and once the crew became relatively familiar with hir genderless appearance and soft yet commanding voice, the transition appeared to go quite well, to the mild surprise of Leonard McCoy.

“Interesting species, that,” he'd commented to Spock one afternoon as they lunched along with Captain Kirk in Officer's Mess 2. OM3, their usual haunt, was under reconfiguration.

“What's wrong, Bones? Cute enough to flirt with, yet too strange to carry it any further?” joked the Captain, touching the corner of his lips with a napkin, his pale eyes twinkling. Spock ignored the physician altogether, focusing instead on his salad.

“Oh, beg your pardon, you tomcat---or should I say, _former_ tomcat?” retorted McCoy, alluding to Kirk's prior solitary personal state, now a thing of the past since his public bonding with his First Officer six months before. It seemed to McCoy that the ship was rife with internal transitions, between crew changes and the unusual status of the command staff. While it was not specifically against regs for command staff on the same posting to marry, or bond, it wasn't common, either, and even though the relationship between the Captain and his First Officer seemed inevitable, their decision to make a definite commitment such as a bond had taken their friend somewhat by surprise.

“Oh, come now, Bones,” smirked the captain, winking at Spock warmly. “You can't tell me that you don't find Lt. Ferron Ferron Ferron somewhat appealing? Almost everyone else on board does.” He stabbed at his synthetic baked potato with his fork, continuing to smirk.

“I didn't say he---or--she---wasn't attractive, Jim,” replied McCoy, lifting a now-cold cup of coffee to his lips. “It's just...oh, I don't know...a trifle unusual, that's all. Nothing I can't get used to, though.” He looked over his shoulder toward the entrance of the mess, as though expecting the officer to come striding through.

Spock sighed, as though bored. It was his usual response to McCoy's seemingly endless banalities. Kirk looked over at his bondmate, affection lighting his eyes. He shook his head gently.

That particular exchange had taken place during alpha shift, and was long forgotten now that night, or what passed for night, had settled over the ship.

In command quarters, as their cabin was now referred to, since the two officers shared it as a bonded couple, the sounds of restless movements could be heard. The environment of the cabin was extremely warm in deference to Spock's metabolic requirements, and the cabin itself was neatly arranged. Even the captain's desk, which was formerly rather frequently disorganized, reflected the nearly compulsive orderliness of the Vulcan, every tape and communications cube neatly filed away, with nothing remaining atop the desk to be seen except for the captain's computer and a holograph of himself and Spock, taken on Altair 3, during their “honeymoon”, which wasn't really a honeymoon at all, but a brief working leave, during which Spock conducted sociological research on Altairian society, while Kirk completed an overly long, and quite overdue, report on complicated negotiations he'd conducted between the leadership council of Altair 3 and the Federation.

They'd managed to squeeze in some private time for themselves, got very little rest, and returned to the ship late, harried and stressed.

That had been six months ago, and the pace set at that time essentially became the hallmark for the pace they continued to endure.

Along with the sounds of restless movements coming from their common bunk, came an occasional sigh, as well as an infrequent moan. There was a certain indolence to the sounds, as though the two men were relaxed yet aroused, content yet excited as well.

“Keep doing that and something bad's gonna happen,” murmured the captain, with the response from his First Officer so muffled that it was essentially undecipherable.

“I mean it,” Kirk murmured, again. There was some more motion beneath the blanket, and the lumpy shapes on the bunk appeared to move synchronously.

“On the other hand, maybe you shouldn't stop,” suggested Kirk, huskily. They continued to wrestle around on the bunk, with Kirk's leg slipping free of the covering, and Spock's bare feet also slipping free, exposed to the near-stifling atmosphere within the cabin.

The captain moaned, and Spock moaned as well, but very softly. Kirk moaned again and sighed, and Spock became extremely silent. Kirk began to beg with an urgent whisper.

“Please, hey, wait a 'sec,” his voice became slightly louder, its inflection more emphatic. “Right there...right there...oh, right _there---”_ His voice rose more than a trifle of an octave higher.

The signal on the communications unit sounded, but the figures beneath the regulation blanket continued their frenzied movements. Once again, the signal sounded, but while Spock ceased his movement immediately, Kirk continued, his legs lifting and the soles of his bare feet sliding along the sheets covering the bunk.

“Shit!” he swore under his breath, breath which caught immediately once the word was uttered.

His hands appeared from beneath the blanket and clutched furtively at Spock's shoulders.

“I can't—-I can't—-I'm right there, dammit!” He threw his head back, his hair completely disarranged, sticking up all over his scalp in little tufts. He groaned and reached a hand over to the side of the bed, feeling around blindly. The signal sounded again, and Spock moved over, covering Kirk's body. His longer arm reached out and his fingertips struck the correct toggle. Audio only.

“Bridge to Captain,” spoke Sulu, crisply. Kirk stifled another groan.

“Kirk here. What is it, Mr. Sulu?” Kirk stopped struggling in Spock's arms and lay completely still.

“Sensors are picking up what appears to be a spatial anomaly, Captain,” reported the helmsman, efficiently. Kirk covered his face with both of his hands, opened his eyes and stared up at the paneled ceiling.

“Where?” he asked. Spock continued to keep his face buried against his bondmate's profusely sweating neck. He, too, remained perfectly motionless.

”Off starboard, sir,” replied Sulu. Kirk didn't answer, but Spock spoke softly into his ear.

“Distance?” he rumbled, _sotto voce_.

“Distance, Mr. Sulu?” repeated the captain.

“One parsec, sir,” replied Sulu. Spock stirred in Kirk's arms.

“Radiation output?” he intoned.

“Radiation levels?” queried the captain, hugging the Vulcan more closely.

“Evaluation in progress, sir. Seems as though the center of the anomaly may be building up to a possible event horizon.”

Kirk inhaled sharply, pushing himself up on his elbows. An event horizon, this far out in the quadrant. He looked down at Spock, who looked up from his vantage point close to Kirk's armpit.

“Possibly a quantum singularity, Jim,” the Vulcan suggested, his deep voice subdued. Kirk nodded in agreement.

“Continue on course toward the anomaly at warp two, Mr. Sulu, and have Lt. Glastonbury's full report ready for Spock. We'll report to the bridge five minutes before shift change.”

“Aye, Captain,” acknowledged the navigator, signing off.

Kirk sighed and lay flat on the bunk again. He gazed at Spock's face.

“I really was almost there, you know,” he smiled. Spock returned the smile with his warm, brown eyes, laying his head upon Kirk's belly.

“In that case, perhaps we should continue our activities, since their conclusion seemed so imminent a few moments ago,” suggested the Vulcan, smoothly. He moved his hand slowly down Kirk's belly, toward the still rigid stalk of flesh which hadn't flagged throughout the captain's exchange with the bridge. Kirk moaned.

“You won't get any arguments from me,” he sighed. They returned to a strenuous, synchronous embrace, the excitement on the bridge temporarily compartmentalized.

Right before the official beginning of alpha shift, they reported to the bridge, relieving Sulu and Glastonbury. Spock's findings corroborated Glastonbury's, and clarified the status of the anomaly. It was indeed a rapidly developing quantum singularity, an almost unheard of occurrence in this particular sector of the quadrant. Kirk notified Starfleet Command, and was extremely excited about receiving orders to continue monitoring the singularity and to document its conclusion, which indeed would be the continuous build- up of radiation which would lead to an event horizon---the total implosion of matter, and the creation of a black hole. This was what the _Enterprise_ did best, with her sophisticated arsenal of instrumentation and her enormous staff of research stellar physicists. It was a plum assignment, and the energy and excitement of the crew fairly crackled throughout the ship.

With the assignment came an intense flurry of activity, not just on the bridge but in the stellar research lab as well. As head of the stellar research department and ship's science officer, Spock was required to spend as much time in both places as he could. He began serving double shifts, and Kirk began to do likewise, largely due to the substantial increase in administrative duties, the signatures required on documentation releases, Starfleet internal media releases, information for Starfleet Press, and the ongoing progress reports to Command. As the ship drew nearer to the site of the singularity, general alert was sounded, and Commander Scott informed the captain to be aware of the probability for warp turbulence.

“The nearer we get to that stellar beastie, Captain, the greater the likelihood we'll be in for some chop,” droned the Chief Engineer through the speaker on the arm of the command chair. 

“Inform all department heads, have crew standing by on all decks for emergency intervention,” ordered Kirk. 

“Aye, sir, already on it. Ever'one's standin' by and ready,” replied Mister Scott. Kirk smiled fractionally. He knew the Scotsman would have taken care of every nuance of anticipation, but was required to give orders anyway.

“Best speed to the site, navigator,” Kirk ordered. The alpha shift navigator was Mister Delmar.

“Warp factor three, sir?” the man inquired, inputting data rapidly, his fingertips prancing across the navigation console.

“Better to set about the singularity at a greater than normal approach velocity, Captain,” replied Spock, walking over to the center well. He stood austerely at Kirk's side, warily regarding the view screen. Shifting light in brilliant shades of indigo and blue were all that could be seen with the naked eye from the distance they were maintaining.

“I would suggest warp six, sir,” suggested Spock, not taking his eyes from the screen.

“Possibility of overshoot, Mr. Spock?” asked Kirk, looking from the screen to his First Mate.

“Possibility of overshoot at that speed is minimal, sir. We need to establish a flyby status in order to initiate documentation procedures,” replied the Vulcan, confidently. Kirk nodded in assent.

“Make it warp six, Mr. Delmar,” ordered the captain.

Kirk's immense satisfaction and sense of pride at winning the singularity investigation assignment had its downside, however, as he soon discovered. For one thing, the amount of administrative duties quickly became overwhelming, so much so that even his yeoman requested assistance, and a second yeoman was assigned to help out. For another thing, Kirk's bondmate seemed to have vanished into the lab, spending so much time there that Lieutenant Glastonbury became a regular fixture on the bridge at the science station, and Spock literally began to exist without sleep.

Kirk returned to his quarters from OFM 2, which was dreadfully overcrowded that evening, and noisy, interfering with what seemed to him to be a rapidly developing headache. He sat down at his desk and began to run through mail and messages on his computer, deactivating the vocal response of the machine and switching to visual only. The robotic voice of the computer grated whenever one of his headaches was coming on, and with the hasty approach of this one in particular, the silence of the cabin was greatly appreciated.

Kirk pulled off his uniform tunic, and toed off his boots. He was exhausted, pleased beyond measure at the efficiency of his crew, but exhausted nevertheless. He stretched and rubbed the back of his neck. He could have benefited from one of Spock's mercilessly intense neck rubs at that moment, but he realized he hadn't actually seen Spock for more than fifteen minutes at any one time over the past seventy-two hours. Between the double shifts and the frenetic preparations in the lab, as the ship drew inevitably closer to the singularity, Kirk hadn't spent any time worth noting with his bondmate. Kirk had been sleeping only intermittently, surviving on power naps, and Spock had barely been seen in their mutual accommodations at all.

Kirk stood up, removing the rest of his uniform as he walked toward the head, leaving various garments strewn across the floor of the cabin. He entered the head and peered at his face in the mirror above the sink. He looked exhausted, face pale and drawn, but his eyes were sparkling and bright with manic energy, kindled by the rapidly advancing observance of one of nature's most spectacular occurrences. This was the sort of thing that had inspired his interest in Starfleet as a child. This one episode in time was worth a lifetime of star travel.

When everything was over, he told himself, he and Spock could take some well-deserved time off. The ship was due for some lengthy shore leave, having foregone such during the previous rotation in order to assist in an emergency border patrol maneuver along the Neutral Zone. No sooner had they returned to normal space, the situation with the singularity had come up, and all of the harried preparatory activity that went with it. A lengthy shore leave was in the offing, and as excited as he was to have this assignment, he was also thoroughly looking forward to time away from the ship and time alone with his devoted partner.

Marriage contracts and bonded commitments among crew serving simultaneously aboard the same ship were not unheard of, nor were they against regulations, provided those relationships fell within the parameters of Starfleet Code and the couples involved were of level rank. What were far rarer were the unions of command personnel in simultaneous postings of service. Kirk recalled the insanity of the protocol he and Spock had endured during the waiting period for their dependency posting to come through. They both had to individually submit to repeated psychological assessments, and endless interrogation.

“Do you now or have you ever believed yourself to be under an undue alien influence?” 

That particular question was so laughable that Kirk had barely been able to control himself when it was first put to him, only to discover to his dismay that it would be asked several more times during several more inquiry sessions. What indeed would constitute “undue” alien influence, anyway? The way Spock walked across the cabin in the nude after one of their intimate encounters? The enticing symmetry of his musculature beneath his smooth, pale flesh as he moved elegantly to the head, or stretched himself languidly across the bunk? There was certainly a tremendous influence there, filling Kirk's eyes with the aesthetics of the sight, and filling his penis with a tremendous surge of blood in reaction to such a vision. What a mind- boggling influence that was!

Kirk smiled to himself, as he ran his both of his hands across his face. Already it was time for an application of beard repressor. He decided on a hot water shower, having gotten by on sonics for the past several days. He squinted into the mirror and ran his fingertips across the small bulge on the left side of his forehead. It was beginning to almost disappear, the ovoid shaped lump which had been on his face for nearly a week. McCoy had been able to remove the bruising, but the egg shape had to diminish at its own pace. 

Kirk grimaced as he recalled the incident which had been the cause of the temporary deformity. He and Spock had been showering together, one the few time in their hectic schedules they were able to do so, and as he was turning from Spock in breathless anticipation of his bondmate's touch, had lost his footing somehow. Spock had lurched forward to catch him before he fell, and he himself had pushed his hands out toward Spock in an effort to hasten his rescue, but in a dreadfully miscalculated error in timing, he'd fallen forward in the opposite direction, his fall halted by his contact with the tiled bulkhead of the shower. His forehead was what made the actual contact, and he fell anyway---flat out cold onto the floor of the shower.

He wasn't out long, just long enough to be hastily wrapped in a towel and carried like a swaddled overgrown infant by naked Spock into their cabin. Dr. McCoy was summoned. What a night that was! They could chuckle about it now but at the time, he remembered, it wasn't very damned funny.

McCoy had chided him about getting “a bit long in the tooth for playing adolescent love games in a wet, slippery shower. Damned fool place for that kind of thing...” He'd warned them both to keep it “on a flat, dry surface, for cryin' out loud.”

Kirk gingerly applied the repressor gel, and while he waited for it to set, activated the shower, set it on medium high and waited for the steam to fill the head. He stepped into the shower, turning his face upwards and allowing the forceful stream to rinse the gel from his face. Reaching out a hand, he began to feel around for the bottle of body cleanser which was always on the shower shelf. He fumbled around for a few minutes, annoyed that whatever yeoman had cleaned the head had also rearranged his toiletries. He would have to lean out of the hot stream and open his eyes and look for the damned thing, something he absolutely did not want to do.

At that precise moment he felt an abrupt swaying motion, and briefly froze in confusion, then recalled Scotty's warning about impending chop, ionization of the hull as the ship steadfastly approached the magnetic border of the singularity itself.

Kirk reached out once more, eyes still closed, searching blindly for the cleanser when he felt the touch of a firm, extremely warm hand.

“Perhaps I could help you find what you need, _t'hy'la_ ,” rumbled a familiar, baritone voice over the din of the streaming water. Kirk opened his eyes despite the water that cascaded over his head and face and smiled up at his bondmate, who'd apparently entered the head at just that moment, already stripped and ready for a shower, as well.

“Hello, stranger,” said Kirk, his eyes blinking rapidly, struggling to keep too much water from inundating his vision. “Do I know you?” He reached out and touched Spock's ribcage, pulling the Vulcan toward him gently. Spock stepped into the shower and gasped as the hot water pounded down on his head and shoulders, drenching him instantly.

“I believe you to be my bondmate, sir,” replied Spock. “Correct me, if you would, if I am mistaken.” He leaned against Kirk, stroking the human's back with his open palm, from neck to tailbone in one smooth, sultry motion. Kirk rubbed his sodden torso against that of Spock, hungrily.

“I almost forgot. Yeah, that's right, we _are_ bonded, aren't we?” He wrapped an arm around Spock's neck. “Does this entail invoking bondmate's rights?”

They held one another for a few moments, and Spock tipped the body cleanse dispenser, pouring a generous amount of it onto his opened palm. He rubbed it slowly and sensuously into his commanding officer's skin, beginning with his chest, moving down to the flat belly and a bit further onto the bronze pubic curls. Kirk gripped Spock's wrist tightly.

“Don't start something you can't finish, Mister,” he warned, playfully. Spock looked down at him, and pulled him out of the sweltering torrent.

“It would be illogical for me to seek to attempt such a highly unproductive maneuver, Captain,” he replied, his face expressionless but his eyes alight with mischief. Kirk brushed against his bondmate's thigh with the tip of a very erect penis.

“What are you trying to say?” he teased, lowering his eyes. He placed both of his hands against Spock's wet collarbone. Spock tilted Kirk's face upward and brushed his soft, full lips against Kirk's.

Kirk responded by parting his, permitting entrance to Spock's fervid tongue. As it propelled its way into Kirk's mouth, the captain was forced to open wider, his own tongue crushed against the onslaught of Spock's. They were sealed that way for quite some time, until Kirk began to tremble, from excitement or too lengthy a time exposed to the water, he wasn't quite sure which.

“Spock,” he murmured, as the Vulcan's searing tumescence battered against his own. Spock's hand slid down Kirk's chest, the fingers splayed, trailing a wet pathway to Kirk's erect nipples, pressing against them, teasingly. Kirk moaned.

“Spock,” he repeated. Spock placed his each of his slippery hands against both of Kirk's hips, turning him to face the steamy bulkhead of the shower, as the water continued to rush from the nozzle.

Without pressing his pelvis flush against the tiles, Kirk placed his hands against it, propping himself, planting his feet as securely as possible against the wet shower floor. He tilted his head back against Spock's shoulder as he felt his bondmate's slender fingers encircle and begin to pull insistently on his rigid shaft, while Spock's organ prodded against Kirk's backside. Kirk pushed his rear against Spock's groin, invitingly.

With his other hand, Spock fondled around Kirk's buttocks until his fingers slid down its crevice, and widening it, gently poked between the cheeks. Kirk wriggled his bottom, offering it. He moaned as Spock's hand on Kirk's cock slid up and down with confident dexterity, moving at a steadfast pace. The arrogance of it, to know so completely what would stimulate Kirk with such unswerving accuracy.

Kirk sighed, and before he could take another breath, gasped as he felt the Vulcan's organ pierce him like a blunt, fiery spear, hitting the bull's eye of his core of pleasure, sending a wave of ecstasy pounding through his consciousness.

 _Mine! Mine, thee are!_ Spock's mind voice spilled into the link inside of Kirk's mind, shattering him. _Yes, love, yes. Yours, all yours. Always yours…_ Kirk’s mind replied, searing pain and scorching pleasure surging through him, obliterating everything that he was, that he thought he could ever be.

Their bodies exploded simultaneously, as did their mutual cerebral peak. Kirk screamed, his voice deflected by the sound of the roaring stream from the full-blast shower, and he slumped forward. Thinking quickly, Spock grabbed his captain before the broad forehead could make contact with the shimmering tile of the bulkhead yet again. He elbowed the control on the shower, deactivating it, and pulled his semi-conscious bondmate onto the floor of the head. He wrapped Kirk in a towel, and himself, and they staggered from the head into the cabin where they collapsed onto the bunk, depleted but satisfied. They lay on their backs, shoulder to shoulder, their bare feet planted firmly on the floor.

Kirk knew nothing until he heard the signal coming through insistently on his comm unit. He listened to it for a moment, struggling to recognize the sound, and quickly sitting up, flicked the toggle to activate it, voice and screen.

It was Lieutenant Uhura, looking bright, awake and devastatingly beautiful, all at the same time.

“Bridge to Captain Kirk,” she chirped, mellifluously. Kirk detected the smile in her eyes.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” he responded, softly. From the corner of his eye he looked down at Spock, who appeared to still be out, cold.

“Message for you, Captain, from Starfleet Command. Marked urgent, for your eyes only, sir,” she informed him.

“When did that come through, Lieutenant Uhura?” asked Kirk, as he scrubbed at his left eye, trying to remove the stickiness of sleep from it. He didn't feel rested at all, he felt more like he'd been hit by something large, like a slowly crashing air car. His entire body felt sore and abused.

“Just now, sir. Shall I send it through?” inquired the communications officer. _How is she able to always look so fresh and alert?_ thought Kirk. _Even when she pulls a double shift..._

“Yes, thank you, Lieutenant,” he replied. He groaned as he sat up on the bed, groaned even louder when he rose, and shuffled over to his desk, activating the comm link there. Admiral Komack's full, mature face, framed by its white hair and matching set of white eyebrows, filled the viewscreen.

“Admiral,” acknowledged the captain, doing his best impression of a commander who never sleeps. It wasn't a very good impression, Kirk knew, but he tried it anyway.

“Captain Kirk,” responded the admiral. There had never been any love lost between the two men, although each gave the other a grudging yet sincere respect. Komack recognized the fact that Kirk was a brilliant captain who ran a tight and very efficient ship, and Kirk was grateful for the manner in which Komack had handled Kirk's request for dependency posting with Spock. Komack had been in charge of the paperwork involved, and it was through his own efforts that the posting was approved as quickly as it had been, despite the annoying volley of required interviews and interrogations.

The rigorous psychological evaluations and the endless physicals---what did they think he and Spock were doing to one another, anyway?

“I tried getting hold of you earlier, Captain, but was unsuccessful at doing so,” began the older man, in his usual blustering, somewhat bitter tone. Kirk smoothed back his damp, disarranged hair.

“I'm sorry, Admiral, I was...indisposed,” apologized Kirk, rather insincerely, repressing an urge to look behind him at the bunk.

“At any rate, Captain, I 'm informing you of a change in orders,” continued Komack, gazing down at something on his desk. He looked back at the screen.

“All responsibility for the investigation and documentation of the quantum anomaly in Sector Seven has been transferred to the _USS Grissom_ ,” stated Komack, unceremoniously. Kirk's eyes widened.

“The _Enterprise_ is being diverted to Regulus 3, in order to monitor the transfer of power from one political party to the other in the matter of the election of the Secondary Planetary Minister there,”continued Komack. He looked directly into the viewscreen.

“Admiral, the _Enterprise_ has been tirelessly collecting, collating and analyzing enormous amounts of data on the singularity and feeding them directly into the data banks for the Science Department at Starfleet Command. Our efforts here represent nearly one hundred and fifty man hours so far,” began Kirk, struggling to repress his rapidly growing sense of disappointment and agitation.

“I realize that, Captain, and of course, Science Command is grateful for the efforts of you and your crew. However, the _Grissom_ is a science vessel, specifically designed and deployed to handle this kind of thing, and while the _Enterprise_ is certainly outfitted with the some of the best instrumentation and science crew in the fleet, its existence as a Constitution-class vessel is vested upon its impressive appearance at political set-ups on Federation worlds such as Regulus 3. You are to make best speed to the Regulus system, and implement complete transfer of all the data you've collected regarding the current status of the singularity to the _Grissom_. Komack out.”

Kirk sat in front of the darkened screen, staring at it, incredulous. He took a deep breath, released it slowly, and opened a channel to the bridge.

“Lieutenant Dahlberg,” he began, and subsequently informed his beta shift commander of the change in orders, switched down to engineering and completed the same task there. He looked over at his bondmate, who was still sleeping, still in the same position he'd dozed off in over four hours earlier.

Kirk walked over to their bunk, lifted Spock's long legs onto it, stretched them out, pulled the damp towel from Spock's body and lay down beside him. He removed the towel wrapped haphazardly around his own body and dropped it to the floor beside Spock's.

“Oh, Spock,” he whispered, wrapping his arm around Spock's narrow waist. He felt a bit regretful momentarily, considering the exhausting pace of the past four days, the exhilaration the entire crew felt, including himself, and the daunting amount of labor Spock had put in supervising the project, all to have it simply ripped from them and handed over on a silver platter to someone else, while they got to be used, yet again, as nothing more than a show boat.

On the other hand, however, there was the stunning beauty of Regulus 3, the interminable shopping, the theaters, restaurants and nightclubs, and the hustle and bustle atmosphere of the contemporary metropolis that Regulus 3 was. Shore leave, he thought, and plenty of it.

At alpha shift he would contact the Spaceport Director of Regulus 3 and request permission to enter orbit around it. Then he and Spock could go over the duty rosters and draw up the schedules for crew leave, and make sure that both he and his bondmate would be on it.

“It is logical, Captain,” Spock assured Kirk the next day as they discussed the change in orders.

“The _Grissom_ is an exploratory vessel, built to specifications especially designed for such. While our science department is more than adequately up to the task of stellar documentation, _Grissom_ would be much better suited for such.” They were dining in OM2, which was again overcrowded and unrelentingly cacophonous.

“I realize that, Spock,” replied Kirk, stabbing at his synthesized broccoli and soy frittata. “I just can't help feeling a bit let down, especially for you and the other members of Stellar Research.” The ship was on approach to Regulus 3, and the crew was abuzz regarding their impending shore leave. While there had been a general sigh of disappointment in terms of their new orders, most of those feelings had been stored away and a more relaxed ebullience settled over the ship as people realized they were going to be finally enjoying the shore leave they so richly deserved after the past several rather tough months.

No one could deny the wonderful destination of Regulus 3, the haven of cultured enjoyment.

Kirk's dress uniform was neatly packed into his carryall, as well as a minimum of toiletries. Anything else he might need he could always procure planetside, and taking a last look around the cabin, he departed, heading straight for the transporter room. Spock was already there when he arrived.

“Well, Spock, I'll see you later. Make sure nobody up here breaks anything,” Kirk grinned.

Spock responded by shaking his head fractionally. He raised a hand and extended its first two fingers. Kirk mirrored the action and extended his hand as well. They locked their gaze as they touched the two sets of fingertips lightly to each other. Kirk paused and smiled at his bondmate, then turned and climbed the steps to the transporter pads.

Within seconds he materialized on the transporter pad of the Traveler Arrival Department on Regulus 3. Within minutes he was processed and shown to an air taxi just outside the spaceport entranceway. As the captain of the _Enterprise_ , he had priority transportation privileges, and was pleased to sit back and take in the sights of the city as the aircar sped to its destination, the Nova Regula Hotel. While all of the several dozen hotels located on Regulus 3 provided more than superb accommodations, Nova Regula was perhaps the most desired, as it was the most recently constructed.

The city was filled with activity, heavy air car traffic, and tremendous pedestrian traffic below. Its streets bustled; persons from nearly every Federation world traveled, shopped and worked on Regulus 3, with only a minimum of the daytime population being actual residents of the planet itself. 

Nightfall brought a veritable explosion of beautiful illumination, signs that detailed the sites and the sights, the restaurants, nightspots and shops. Shops remained open until very late, restaurants and nightclubs even later, well into the wee hours of morning.

Economically, Regulus 3 was what had been known as a “boom” planet, with a firm financial foundation that showed no signs of diminishing any time soon. The political atmosphere there was far from egregious, with opposing parties motivated to work collectively for the good of the planet's future.

Kirk felt that having the _Enterprise_ show up as a flagship of _bon homie_ while certainly was part and parcel of the _Enterprise_ 's reason for being, it still was a meager excuse for having been pulled so abruptly and unceremoniously from the investigation of the quantum singularity. Downloading all of the data from the telemetry they'd gathered, analyzing it and having it transferred to _Grissom_ 's data banks had proven an enormous chore, requiring as many personnel hours as the investigation itself had.

The four days' shore leave the crew could enjoy here on Regulus 3 was but a mere pat on the back from Starfleet, and Kirk did his best to repress the sense of simmering resentment he couldn't help but feel. One thing he could be proud of, however, was the superb job his science crew had done in gathering the data in the first place, and he'd written several requests for commendations. They deserved it, Spock foremost among them all.

Kirk arrived at the Nova Regula and contacted the ship as soon as he'd checked into his room. The room itself was a work of art, muted tones splashed with vivid ones, furnishings elegant and sumptuous, and a view which displayed the city in its entire architectural splendor. The aircar traffic moved seamlessly through the lower sky lanes, the symmetry of the designs of the simple navigational directions as peaceful to watch from the comfort of the suite as it was to ride through.

“Spock,” replied the captain into his communicator as soon as he heard his bondmate's steady voice. “How's the deployment of crew bound for leave going? Smoothly, I hope?”

“On schedule, as expected, Captain. I trust your arrival went well?” Spock's voice would not sound any different to anyone else who heard it, but Kirk easily detected the smile that lay securely hidden within it, a smile intended for his ears only. He visibly smiled in return.

“It's gorgeous here, Spock. Simply gorgeous. I won't be meeting with the Second Minister's press attachment until later this afternoon, so I think the first order of business for me would be to grab a bite of lunch, and take a bit of a walk. This city's certainly designed for strolling. Even with the large amount of pedestrians outside the layout of the place gives everyone quite enough room. Are you still clear to check in here this evening?” 

Kirk leaned against the back of a heavy, cream-colored chair, its upholstery designed for elegance and comfort. He looked out at the serenity of the layout of the city, watching idly as the aircars streamed past.

“Everything here is as it should be, Captain. Barring any unseen delay, I shall be arriving punctually at the agreed-upon time.” Kirk closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the sound of Spock's deep, resonant voice. It was like a balm to his senses.

“Very good, Mister Spock. Until then. Kirk out,” he replied, maintaining the professional demeanor in his voice. He reset the communicator and attached it to his belt, took one more look at the view from the window and headed to the door, intent on getting some fresh air and investigating the neighborhood surrounding the Nova Regula. He was especially interested in the shops, thinking of the first anniversary of his and Spock's bonding, which would be coming up in just a another solar month.

A year. One whole year, Kirk thought to himself as he walked down the richly carpeted corridor to the lift. When he actually considered it, however, it didn't feel quite like a year. It felt more like two. It seemed to Kirk that he and Spock had always been together. They'd been serving together as a command team for nearly three years when their relationship as lovers had blossomed like a hydroponic flower, enormous and overwhelming, beautiful and delicate, all at the same time.

If he had to pinpoint the exact moment of their personal implosion, he wouldn't be able to. He had quite simply forgotten it, compartmentalized it thoroughly until it became buried deep somewhere in the storage section of his overburdened mind. He remembered there had been a chess game in his quarters, and that for several weeks they'd been using his quarters for the game instead of one of the recreational rooms, as they'd done in the past. He remembered reaching out to touch a rook in order to make his move, and Spock reaching out for a knight, and their fingertips touching briefly in passing.

He remembered Spock's face, inanimate as always, yet there had been something barely discernible in the eyes. Had it been desire? Everything past that point was a blur, and the only thing these days that he could remember clearly was the kiss that passed between them, which had happened while they were on the floor, and how exactly they had ended up there was something of which he still had absolutely no recollection, and what it was that had upset the chess pieces, which were strewn about the two of them all over the floor as well was something he could not recall either. It was all a blur, a weird, wonderful blur.

With the exception of the kiss, the electrifying feeling of which Kirk remembered clearly, they had advanced no further in the physical manifestation of their mutual attraction. Spock remained low key, sedate, reassuring and gentle. Kirk on the other hand behaved as though an explosive had gone off within him, igniting a conflagration of nervous exhilaration that he was hard pressed to explain. He had tried to explain it all to Dr. McCoy, whom, Kirk later discovered, had already guessed, but pretended complete ignorance of what was obvious to the entire crew.

The final stage of their attraction took place not on board the _Enterprise_ , which they both felt would have represented conduct unbecoming, but planet side, on Rigel IV, during a rain-soaked shore leave that lasted only a brief three days. A three day pass that changed both of their lives, Kirk felt, forever.

They had spent most of their time in that isolated little bungalow just outside the city limits, cosseted from the cold, dreary weather, with little to do except to discover the wonder of themselves.

Still, Kirk recalled, as the lift doors opened in the Nova Regula and he stepped inside, Spock had managed to save the very best for last. Kirk's face was warm and its coloring deepened by the time the lift doors opened and he was deposited at the lobby of the hotel. Some memories, he thought quietly as he walked past the check-in desk and headed for the elaborate glass doors of the building, are better recalled when one is alone.

“Jim!” A female voice, strong and commanding, called Kirk's name. “Jim! Jim Kirk, what in the nine worlds are you doing here?”

Kirk whirled in search of the origin of the voice, and his face broke into a warm smile at the sight he beheld. She was still beautiful after all these years, perhaps more so. Dark brown hair swept up into a neat twist, a bare fringe of bangs just brushing her eyebrows, and those sparkling green eyes, her calling card for many an encounter, as her life among the stars had progressed.

“'Jeet!” Kirk said, recalling instantly her nickname. 'Jeet, short for Marie-Brigitte Mauritain; she’d been the navigator aboard the _Lydia Sutherland_ , the ship aboard which Kirk had served as First Officer. Theirs had been a fast, firm friendship, after a brief, intense physical affair. The brevity of it had taken Kirk by surprise then, but the warmth and dependability of the friendship was something he would always treasure. It was the second time he'd developed a real friendship with a woman he'd slept with, the first being his close relationship with Areel Shaw.

It was nothing short of sheer pleasure to see 'Jeet here, and now. Kirk reached out to her and drew her into a warm, loving embrace.

“Oh, Jimmy, Jimmy,” she chirped happily, patting him repetitively against his back, her slender hands firm and sturdy. Her scent was light and clean, the fragrance of a popular and very expensive perfume. Kirk held onto her tightly for several moments.

“Ghods, 'Jeet, how the hell've you been?” Kirk murmured against her neck. He could feel his heart hammering, blood pounding in his ears. Of all the people he'd met over the past decade and a half of his career in space, with the exception, of course, of Spock, and Bones, and perhaps Areel, 'Jeet Mauritain held the deepest part of his heart. Her steadfast loyalty and rational approach to the unpredictable had seen him through several personal crises, and her shoulder had always been available for a good whine when professional crises loomed, as they often did before he'd passed his captain's exam and been appointed commander of the _Enterprise_.

“I'm great, Jimmy, I'm just great. And you, how about you?” She gently pushed against Kirk's shoulders, leaning away and looking him up and down, smiling. “You look wonderful! Still the heartbreaker you've always been, eh?” Kirk took both of her hands in his.

“I'm not doing too much of that these days, 'Jeet. Look at you---when are you going to stop being so gorgeous?” He embraced her again, and planted moist, closed lips against her face, close to her mouth. Her green eyes shimmered as she looked at him.

“No? And why is that?” she grinned, knowledgeably. What did she know? Kirk wondered.

“Do you have time to sit and have a drink?” he asked, looking through the second set of glass doors toward the bar situated to his left.

“Actually, I do. What about you? You seemed to be on your way somewhere,” the woman smiled again. She was wearing her uniform, and apparently was First Officer of whatever ship she was serving on..

“I am---I mean I was---but it can wait for a few moments, let's just sit down and have a quick one,” Kirk replied, guiding her toward the bar. “For a moment in time such as this, everything else can just wait.” They laughed, their heads inclined toward one another, as they entered the bar. The maitre d', tall and angular like most Regulans, indicated a table and they took it, sitting down facing one another.

“What will you have, 'Jeet? Altair water, as usual?” Kirk said, taking the woman's slender hand in his. He felt as though he were floating on air, it seemed incomprehensible to have run into her in this place, having been out of touch with her for such a shamefully long time.

“You remember? You're such a hopeless romantic, Jimmy!” she laughed, her authoritative tone gone, vanquished by the musical sound of her more relaxed, more personal voice. “Yes, yes, Altair water will be just fine.” Kirk raised his hand, his fingers in a V shape to the waiter, who discreetly disappeared into the serviceway.

“So, Lieutenant, where are you these days? You're not still on the _Venture_ , are you?” Kirk sat straight, his back against the tall back of the chair. He canted his head, watching her. Her movements were so delicate and feminine, but when she was in command mode, as first officer or first navigator, as he had known her, she brooked no opposition.

“Yes, Jimmy, as a matter of fact, I am. Still on the _Venture,_ still hanging around with the star troopers, “she giggled. The _USS Venture_ was _Constitution_ \- class, but in the past few years had seen more than its share of battle situations, dealing effectively with Klingon rebels, then participating in a containment action against Romulan upstarts who defied their own Praetor in a gambit designed to give them access to the planet Coridan, and its wealth of natural dilithium deposits.

“Did she take many casualties last year? We were on the opposite side of the quadrant, dealing with colonists at Berengaria V who seemed unwilling at the time to abandon their colony and seek shelter from a pretty nasty ion storm. Didn't want to see their years of terraforming labor go to waste,” mentioned Kirk, as their Altair waters arrived, sparkling in tall, slender glasses.

“She took a few. Captain Van der Maal was severely injured, had to return Earthside for a while,” confirmed 'Jeet, sipping neatly at her water. “What happened with the colonists? Were you able to get them all out safely? Were they able to return to their outfit?”

“Yes,” replied Kirk, nodding agreeably. “To both questions. We evacuated them, finally, despite heated protestations to the contrary, and they were able to return. They're still there, making some little progress, but that's the way it is with terraforming. Takes the patience of a saint.”

They sat together, laughing over old times, falling silent as they remembered lost comrades, and laughing some more as the full mellowing effect of the Altair water began to set in.

“So, First Officer, and all that, what's going on in your personal life? You're not still man trapping, are you?” teased Kirk, holding onto her hand, firmly. She was still, at 35, one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. Slender, small-bosomed, with a graceful length of slender neck, and a charming, heart-shaped face. High cheekbones and those knock 'em dead green orbs. He sighed, wistfully. He remembered the indefatigable energy she'd exhibited during their personal moments together.

“Oh, Jimmy, now you know how it is. My personal life is all about the _Venture_. Got dilithium juice in my bloodstream. No room for anything else,” she chided, smiling, her verdant eyes twinkling.

“Oh, is that how it is, huh?” he retorted, jovially. What a waste, he thought, reminiscing.

“But I hear differently about you, you know. Care to share your secrets?” 'Jeet replied, smoothly. She looked directly into Kirk's amber gaze. Their eyes locked for a moment.

“What secrets would those be?” Kirk asked, innocently. He playfully batted his long eyelashes, and they both broke into ribald laughter.

“Oh, let's see now. How to rope a Vulcan, of all people, into bonding with you?” 'Jeet carped, hilarity lilting her voice. She punched Kirk lightly against his bicep. He made an “ow” face and rubbed his arm, wincing.

“No need for violence, 'Jeet. What do you need to know?” he asked, reaching for what was left of his Altair water. “Would you like another one of these, by the way? You're obviously not on duty at the moment.” He lifted a hand and signaled the waiter, who was standing idly by the kitchen way.

“I need to know everything. Everything and anything you care to tell me, my love. Yes, I'd like another one, and no, I'm not on duty at all, I'm actually on leave.” She gazed at him, solemnly, her amusement dispensed with for the moment. The waiter appeared, retrieved their glasses and disappeared again.

“Everything? I don't know if I can tell you everything, now, 'Jeet,” replied Kirk, assessing her change in mood. It was so delightful sitting with a person who could so openly show what they were feeling. With Spock, there were subtleties that Kirk was familiar with, but often it entailed concentration to know exactly where the Vulcan's moods were headed. Despite his taciturn manner, Spock was a veritable treasure trove of emotions. He just hid them very well, and it was his bondmate's responsibility, as Kirk soon discovered, to ferret them out and deal with them.

With 'Jeet, it was all so natural, and easy. The familiarity of their mutual species put Kirk at ease, and he exhaled, relaxing. The Altair waters arrived, and once again the waiter discretely vanished.

“Okay. Just the good parts, then,” 'Jeet agreed, taking a deep sip of her beverage. Kirk followed suit, and coughed, surreptitiously. He widened his eyes and looked at her, pertly.

“Oh. Oh, sure, you're waiting for me,” he smiled, broadly. “Well, let's see now. We were both assigned to the _Enterprise_ , he long before me, having served for more than a decade under Captain Christopher Pike...ah, let's see...we liked to work together, he's an awesome First, and he also serves as science officer. He has several doctorates in advanced stellar sciences, as well as one in hyperbolic mathematics and---”

'Jeet gently placed her hand against Kirk's forearm, which rested on the table.

“Jimmy,” she appealed. “His c.v. I'm not so interested in. Get to the mushy part, will you?”

Kirk leaned back against his chair and raised both of his hands, in concession. 

“Fine, fine. The mushy part,” he agreed. The mushy part? He stifled a chuckle. Mushy. Spock, mushy. Somehow those two words didn't seem to go together at all. Spock and mushy. Mushy and Spock. No, they didn't seem to belong together, yet, there actually were times when---

“Mauritain to Kirk,” hailed 'Jeet, teasingly. “Is anyone there? Hello?” She waved her hand in front of his face.

“Oh, yeah, I'm sorry, 'Jeet. It's hard to explain, really. I'm still not sure how it happened. I don't know if it was the fact that he saved my life---twice, now---or was always at my side, so reliable. Or if the sheer magnitude of his mind drew me, or just the way our personalities fit together so perfectly. I can't really describe it. I know he was injured, once, severely injured, and Bones---our CMO, Leonard McCoy---didn't know for sure if he was going to pull through, and he was on life support...” Kirk's voice trailed off, and he looked toward the window, absently, his mind recalling details he'd rather have forgotten. 'Jeet touched his hand, gently, her eyes searching his face.

“Well, anyway,” Kirk tried to smile, his eyes reflecting sorrow. “He made it. He made it just fine, and I promised myself I'd let him know how I felt about him, and I kept that promise. He didn't answer me, and I thought I'd made a complete ass of myself, and we kept working together, and he invited me one evening to play chess, which we had stopped doing after I'd blown my cover with him, and so we set out to play a game in my quarters...” His voice trailed off, and he gazed out of the window again, thoughtfully, his dark, blond eyebrows furrowing.

'Jeet cleared her throat. Kirk returned his gaze to her, smiling fractionally.

“All righty then,” 'Jeet grinned, cheerfully. “Thanks, Jimmy. That's all I need to know. Congratulations.” She took both of his hands in hers. “I mean it. Congratulations and best wishes to you both. I haven't met your First yet, but I certainly hope I get a chance to. Seems he accomplished the impossible.”

Kirk looked at her inquiringly, his eyes bright and slightly brimful. 

“And what might that be?” he asked, softly.

“He caught the finest, the handsomest, the bravest and the best of any of the available officers in the entire Fleet, Jimmy,” she smiled, and leaning forward she kissed his forehead. “To do that he must be one hell of a guy.” Kirk returned her smile, in triplicate, his face reddening.

“Oh, it's that way, is it?” 'Jeet commented, knowingly. Kirk exploded into hilarity, his face reddening even more. He felt hot all over.

“I---okay, okay. It's been so lovely seeing you again, 'Jeet,” he chortled, placing his hand against her cheek, lightly.

“Time to go already?” she complained, finishing her drink. She looked down, glancing at her chrono.

“I'm here on a diplomatic ticket, and need to check in with some folks from the Second Minister's office. Command pulled us off a particularly interesting cosmic investigation so we could prance and preen for them here, get the new government off to a good start. Ours not reason why, et cetera,” he explained, his fingers toying with his glass.

“Oh, I know. Same shit, different day, I suppose,” responded the lieutenant.

“The only up side to all this is that we get to get in some shore leave, which we desperately need, and in a fantastic spot, to boot,” said Kirk, extending his hand outwardly. ‘Jeet nodded enthusiastically, in agreement.

“Oh, this place is wonderful, Jimmy,” she said, rising. “Is your First Officer coming down, too?” Kirk rose also.

“Yes, he is, 'Jeet. He's set to check in here at the hotel later this evening. Just had to attend to a few last minute details on board. Will you be around? How long's the _Venture_ going to be in orbit?”

Kirk reached out and placed both of his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them lightly.

“We'll be warping out in twenty-four hours. Just stopped by to pick up some cargo and exchange some engineering paraphanalia for some more engineering paraphanalia,” she explained.

“Good. That's great. Why don't we arrange to meet here then, you, myself and Spock,” suggested Kirk. “Say around 1900?” He indicated his chrono with his index finger.

“It's a date, my love,” replied 'Jeet. “Oh,” she frowned. Kirk looked at her wonderingly.

“I suppose I shouldn't use little pet names like that for you anymore, right?” 

She flashed her eyes at him, teasing again. He drew a somber face.

“No, I suppose not,” he replied, in command mode. “But then again, what the heck,” he laughed, genuinely. “Let the old man sweat for a change, right?” They both dissolved into mutual amusement.

“With you, I don't doubt he'll go gray in no time,” 'Jeet nearly screeched. “I'm surprised he doesn't have you on a sensor collar and a leash, you little dog!” They laughed some more, in near hysteria, amply buoyed by the two glasses of Altair water they'd consumed, and embraced, hugging tightly. They parted, and Lieutenant Mauritain went her way, and Kirk went his.

***

His meeting with the press junket for the Second Minister having been dispensed with quickly, a little too quickly, he felt, Kirk returned to his suite and checked in with Spock, who was busily attending to last minute command matters and some lab work that he felt compelled to investigate, despite the presence of able technicians and specialists. Kirk frowned at the coolness of the Vulcan's voice, and having signed off, he slammed his communicator down on the center table of the living area of the suite hard. He immediately picked it up and checked it, making sure he hadn't damaged it.

He stood and began to undress, deciding against going back out into the extreme warmth of the Regulan afternoon. A shower sounded like a much better idea, and perhaps a short nap. After all, it was shore leave, even though technically for him it was a working shore leave. He thought ruefully as he strode nude across the room to the 'fresher, that lately every shore leave he'd taken had been a working shore leave. Captaincy of the _Enterprise_ was comprised of a twenty-four hour a day, seven days a solar week lifestyle, leaving virtually no room at all for personal interests, including a personal life.

No wonder they'd always joked about starship command being a life for confirmed bachelors.

Over the past year of their bond, Kirk realized, there hadn't been a single moment when they hadn't been concerned with the ship or their responsibilities to Starfleet. Every shore leave had been extremely brief, with command duties in the forefront of their consciousness. On board, ever cognizant of their roles and their appearance as the command team, they'd been guarded and keenly aware of what their bonded status meant.

No exchanges of affection were ever clearly seen between them, except during their mutual defensive arts workouts in the gym, when grappling and groping were appropriate and acceptably public. Their mental link was the place for affection and tenderness, and Kirk learned to cherish it. Within the link, he always felt the warmth of his bondmate's limitless love and devotion, that feeling of safety associated with the knowledge that Spock was there, and always would be.

Yet, Spock's persistent hold on the free expression of emotions that Kirk, as a human, was accustomed to, was something that Kirk had to grow to appreciate. His love for Spock was boundless, as was his devotion to the Vulcan. The devotion had long been there, as a friend and co-commander, long before they'd acknowledged that they were profoundly, deeply and irrevocably in love. Kirk felt the devotion keenly, had never known it really, in any previous relationships, even sweet unions like the ones he'd enjoyed with Marie-Brigitte and Areel.

Kirk smiled fractionally as he reflected on the intensity of his and Spock's physical love. That intensity was always there, as well, despite the fact that unfortunately, it couldn't always be enjoyed to the fullest, the way he'd like. Their duties on board the ship would frequently be so extensive that there was precious little time left for anything more than sleep, followed by an occasional quickie, or vice versa. There was no time for luxurious afternoons of lovemaking, and for the most part, over the past few months, theirs had been a celibate union, relegated to the twice daily kiss, morning and nightfall, and the highly infrequent and brief frottage they'd steal a few moments for.

If anyone else knew that the former “Tomcat” had settled for such routine domesticity, they'd have been totally astonished.

Kirk was astonished, himself. He entered the shower, dialed up the preferred level of water temperature and began to slowly give himself a nice, soapy wash.

Kirk awoke one and a half hours later, and languished on the bed, looking around the room. This was an elegantly appointed suite, and he daydreamed a little about being a wealthy civilian with a luxurious mansion on some ridiculously gorgeous, verdant planet. He and Spock would live there, engaging in wild passionate sex whenever the mood struck them, and in his fantasy, it struck them constantly. Spock, Kirk already knew, was a very passionate and generous lover, strong, virile and powerful. Spock was endowed with the amazing capability of withholding his own release in order to generate a more highly stimulated response from Kirk. Mutual orgasms were not common for them, it was far more usual for Spock to push Kirk past the point of his resistance, and having done so, hold the human until he slipped breathlessly into slumber, his body resonating from the shattering climax precipitated by Spock. Kirk frequently wanted more, but the consistently overly engaged lives they lived on board the ship made it virtually impossible to find the time they needed to discuss their problems.

Life went on. Love continued, blossomed, overflowed, diminished, withdrew, blossomed again, and continued still.

Kirk's communicator chirped and he picked it up from the bedside table upon which he’d placed it before laying down for his nap. He flipped it open, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“Kirk here,” he spoke into the unit. His back arched in a stretch.

“Spock here, Captain,” replied a deep voice, scarcely altered by the electronic field of the device. Kirk sat up, sliding his bare feet to the floor beside the bed.

“Hey,” he responded, sleep immediately dispelled. “Are you ready to beam down?”

“Affirmative, Captain, all is in readiness, and Commander Scott has the conn.” Spock's voice contained no noticeable inflection, but Kirk recognized a bare frisson of anticipation beneath the smoothness of the command mode.

“Very good. You're already booked here at the Nova Regula, so...” Kirk let his voice trail off, daydreaming momentarily about the silken touch of his bondmate's onyx hair.

“I will be arriving promptly at 1850 hours,” the Vulcan informed his captain. Kirk nodded, and replied, “See you then, Mister Spock. See you then.” Mentally he sent out words of love and a feeling of desire, and received such in return, immediately. _Together, adun, my Own. Soon._

Kirk smiled, folding the communicator and placing it back on the table. He stood up and stretched, gazing down at the front of his body. _Sure, my friend. Just the sound of his voice commands us, doesn't it?_ He caressed his tumescence, picturing Spock in his mind, Spock on his knees before him, the top of his black hair shining in the ambient evening light of the suite. Spock, touching him, his mouth hot and wet, covering him, the long, thick tongue slithering around the shaft.

Kirk shook himself fractionally, and removed his hand from his rigid penis. Time to refocus, time to get dressed and go out for a few moments, get some fresh air. He wanted to try and do some shopping, find something that would both intrigue Spock, and lovingly signify the passage of one year of bonded bliss. Kirk inhaled and exhaled, twice, hoping to discourage what seemed to be a possible bout of temporary priapism if something wasn't done, and soon. He retrieved his chrono from the bedside table and put it on, glancing at the time. He could wait, he decided. He could wait, and save this for Spock.

Kirk dressed himself, and running his fingers through his hair, picked up his communicator, automatically checking its energy reserves and placed it in its little holster on the back of the waist of his trousers, glancing around the suite as he left the room. The corridor of the tenth floor was silent, and quite serene, as he strode to the lift, touched its signal and waited.

He and Spock, he decided, could make the most out of the few days they had to spend here. The only required duty that they would be compelled to attend to would be the banquet for the Second Minister, which wouldn't be held until the following night. The third and fourth days could be spent relaxing in the hotel suite, or shopping, or sightseeing. 

Regulus 3 was a small planet, fully class M, with regional climatology that boasted tropical climates and plenty of sun. There wasn't much happening on the scientific front, but the architectural and landscaping frontiers there were constantly evolving, and it could be interesting for someone like Spock, who found architecture fascinating with its invigorated blending of art and mathematics. Kirk made a note to self to introduce Spock to the Director of Interior Industrial Design for Regulus 3. He was fairly certain the man would be in attendance tomorrow evening at the banquet.

Kirk ended up spending less time shopping than he had intended. Ordinarily, he enjoyed shopping, especially in market areas as densely populated as those on Regulus 3. Most of the shops were rather high-end, and while Kirk didn't mind spending extensive credits on something for his bond mate, he knew that Spock would frown on what he would consider a wasteful expenditure on a mere trinket. Spock was the agreed- upon accountant in their union, and insisted that they save for the house they were thinking of purchasing on Vulcan, in Vulcanis, a small city near Shi'kahr. 

While Kirk was not completely averse to living on Vulcan, he wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea, either, but went along with Spock because the idea seemed so pleasing to his bond mate. Kirk's own idea for their future, once they'd retired from Starfleet, was a nice little condominium in San Francisco, something with a clear view of the Golden Gate Bridge. Spock seemed amenable to such a plan, but Kirk knew that the Vulcan would prefer to return to his home world. 

Spock repeatedly informed Kirk that wherever they ended up mattered little, as long as they remained together, a statement that pleased Kirk immensely. Secretly, he hoped that his little plan of purchasing the condominium within the year, and showing it to Spock via holovid, would be enough to convince the Vulcan of the logic of such a decision. Earth had so much more to offer than Vulcan. It even had a thriving community of Vulcans, a diaspora comfortably situated throughout the globe, as well as on the two moon bases, Tycho and Copernicus Alpha.

In addition to the condo in San Francisco, Kirk still held interest in the farm, in Riverside. He and his nephew Peter would inherit it, although Kirk firmly believed it would be many more years before his mother would die. She was a very sturdy, healthy septuagenerian whose hold on and interest in life remained as vigorous as it always had. 

Death just wasn't something she planned on becoming acquainted with anytime soon. Kirk smiled to himself as he entered the lobby of the hotel. His mother always seemed to have a mysterious attraction to Spock, warmly receiving him on the two occasions they'd been Earthside, and including fond messages for him in her alternate monthly transmissions to Kirk.

Kirk's relationship with Spock's parents, Ambassador Sarek and Lady Amanda, were cordial, with Lady Amanda being considerably friendlier and warmer than the Ambassador. Kirk always felt that Spock's physical resemblance to his father was remarkable, and it warmed him somehow to realize what his bondmate would look like in another decade.

“Jim!” 

Kirk turned in the direction of the strong, decisive male voice. He narrowed his eyes, peering into the dimness of the restaurant section of the lobby.

“Hey, Jim Kirk! Over here!” the voice called, booming loudly. He started in its direction, slowly, still uncertain as to who the voice belonged to. He discovered quickly just who it was.

“Jim! By ghod, it's been a thousand years!” Strong hands extended, one clasping one of his, eagerly, the other grasping and affectionately squeezing his shoulder. The man who stood in front of him was wearing a white, v-necked tunic with buttons down its front, and black Starfleet uniform trousers. Black boots completed the picture. Kirk smiled at the face as he recognized it, and rolled his hazel eyes.

“Haddon!” he exclaimed. He peered at the man's handsome face and lifted a hand to grab the individual by the back of his sturdy neck. “Haddon Kamarovsky! Well, this is just too much,” Kirk laughed, heartily. The two men embraced and held for several moments.

Lieutenant Haddon Ingram Kamarovsky was the chief prosecutor for the Judge Advocate General's office in Sector 9. He and Areel Shaw had been a formidable team for several years, young, aggressive and brilliant. When the JAG's office split in two due to the extremity of case overloads, Areel remained in Sector 6 and Haddon went with Sector 9, turning it into the JAG's office with the most convictions per solar month. He was an award-winning prosecutor, with prospects of a highly productive and sensational career in legal advocacy once he'd resigned his commission with 'Fleet.

“I can't believe this. Here I've been moping around nursing my wounds over a dream assignment that got ripped right out from under me, dooming me to this little rock for a few days, and here I am not only running into you, but 'Jeet Mauritain, former love of my life. Incredible!” Kirk wrapped his arms around the other man's waist, and patted him on the cheek affectionately.

“Hey, man, it's a small quadrant, what can I say?” agreed Kamarovsky, nodding. He was the same height as Kirk, roughly the same build, with light brown eyes, brown skin and dark brown hair, close trimmed to his well-shaped skull. He wore a pale blue precious stone set in a single earring in his right earlobe, and his dark, umber moustache was neatly groomed.

“What the hell are you doing here, anyway? Sit down, take a load off and join me for a drink,” Kamarovsky invited _Enterprise'_ s young captain, who followed the man's suggestion and pulled out a chair to the table at which Kamarovsky had been sitting. Kamarovsky motioned for the waiter, and turned to face Kirk, still holding one of the captain's hands.

“You've seen 'Jeet Mauritain? That's wild, I had no idea she was on Regulus as well,” said Kamarovsky, happily, his almond shaped eyes searching Kirk's face enthusiastically. The waiter appeared at their table.

“Rigellian champagne, please, in a bucket, with tons of ice,” ordered the attorney, smoothly, squeezing Kirk's hand.

“That'll take some big credits, Hadd,” opined Kirk, his eyes widening. “Do you do this sort of thing often?” Both men laughed loudly.

“For an occasion like this, only champagne will do! You little puppy, you, how in blazes have you been? Still running that bucket of bolts you got assigned to a few years back?” Kamarovsky eased his hold on Kirk's now- moist hand, and leaned back against the soft leatherine analog of the chair.

Their table was fairly small, specifically designed for a small group. Kirk stretched his legs out.

“Bucket of bolts, my ass,” he replied, smiling warmly. Haddon Kamarovsky had been Kirk's first roommate during his undergraduate days at Starfleet Academy, before Gary Mitchell. Throughout their entire time at the Academy, through Command School, Kirk and Haddon had remained close friends, often socializing together, taking classes together and even double dating from time to time.

While Kirk had dated women, for the most part, Haddon had dated other men exclusively, and before the end of Command School, had taken up with a student from Old Senegal who was enrolled at the neighboring University of California at Berkeley.

“Oh, come on, J.T. Everyone from here to the Barrier knows about the _Enterprise_. You still keeping her fit and hearty?” smiled Haddon, sincerely. He was an extremely handsome man, with a brilliant smile and a dreamy expression to his eyes, fringed the way they were with a delicate fan of long, full ebony lashes.

“I'm doing what I can,” affirmed Kirk, looking up as the waiter pushed a mag-lev cart up to their table, loaded down with delicately stemmed glasses with overly large trumpets, a wide plate heaped with Aldeberan caviar, and a tall, silver bucket overflowing with shaved ice, from which protruded one of the longest bottle necks Kirk had ever seen. Rigellian champagne, still corked.

“My ghod, Haddon,” murmured Kirk, staring at the display. The waiter placed all of the items on the table, and holding the bottle, which was sweating, offered to pop its cork.

“Be my guest, “ offered Haddon, folding his hands behind his neck. The uncorking made a distinctive hollow sound, almost like a percussive instrument. Kirk and Kamarovsky both laughed, as 

Kamarovsky reached for their glasses. He poured a generous amount of the bubbly fluid into a glass for Kirk, and offered it to him, then took one for himself.

“To eternal friendship, Jim,” he said, as he hoisted the glass elegantly. Kirk followed suit, smiled, and they lightly clinked the glasses.

“Bottoms up, baby boy,” grinned Kamarovsky. Kirk tilted his glass to his lips, tasted the slightly salty but incredibly refreshing beverage, and drank more, swallowing deeply.

“Yo, easy on that, my friend. Rigellian's the pick of the litter around the galaxy when it comes to champagne, you know. Makes Dom Perignan taste like old fashioned ginger ale,” commented Kamarovsky, licking the bubbles from his moustache. Kirk toasted again and took another deep drink.

“This stuff's fantastic. Caviar, too?” 

Kirk eyed the black mush on the silver plate. He took a small forkful of it and placed it on a smooth, cream-colored cracker. “How the hell much are they paying you folks over at the JAG? Maybe I should've gone through law school.” He tasted the cracker and leaning back again, munched with contentment.

“Not nearly as much as I'd like them to. I work with them for the thrill of winning cases, not for the pocket change they periodically hurl at me,” retorted Kamarovsky, taking another drink of champagne.

“Well, then, whatever you're doing, it sure as hell tastes like you're doing well for yourself,” said Kirk, murmuring through another mouthful of caviar and cracker. He grabbed his glass and washed his repast down.

“Oh, dear baby boy, have a little more,” coaxed Kamarovsky, grinning happily. He refilled Kirk's glass.

“Tryin' to get me drunk now, are you?” accused Kirk, teasing. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he gazed at his old friend. It was simply inconceivable that he would run into Haddon Kamarovsky, here, after what? At least eight years. Not only Haddon, but 'Jeet as well. Talk about two on a match.

“You said you ran into 'Jeet. How's she doing? Where's she staying? She still with the _Venture_? What's she doing here?” Kamarovsky happily and enthusiastically questioned Kirk, who continued to sip at his glass.

“She's still with the _Venture_ , she's still the First, the ship's here on a milk run but they're warping out of orbit tomorrow or something, I don't remember now,” murmured Kirk, smiling sweetly.

“She looks great, she smells great, she _is_ great. The great Marie-Brigitte, that lovely Mauritain person.” Kirk downed the rest of his glass, and regarded Kamarovsky fondly.

“Ease up over there, Captain Kirk,” said Kamarovsky, smiling, and eyeing Kirk's once again empty glass. “This stuff's addicting, and it'll sneak up on you faster than a Denebian slime devil.” He laughed gently, and Kirk responded in kind.

“So,” began Kirk, picking at the caviar with the little serving fork. “I take it you're here on a case, or are you on leave?” He placed a minute amount of caviar on another cracker, lifted it to his mouth and began licking the caviar off of the cracker, watching Kamarovsky's face. Kamarovsky smiled, enigmatically.

“Both,” he replied. “Case is won, got some time leftover, gonna hang out here and party for a day or two, then it's time to move on.” He trailed a fingertip lazily around the rim of his glass.

“And _Enterprise_ is here for what reason, now?” he asked, dreamily. The restaurant became fractionally noisier, filling quickly with diners from the offices surrounding the hotel, just getting off of work for the day. Kirk gazed around, looking over at the concierge.

“Expecting someone, J.T.?” Kamarovsky inquired, conversationally. He picked up a cracker laden with caviar and popped the entire thing into his mouth.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Was your case covered by media? Will it be carried on 'FleetNews?” asked Kirk, turning around and facing Kamarovsky. Spock was due, it wasn't like him to be late. Kirk wanted to introduce him to Haddon.

“It certainly was, and it certainly will be. Big case, dereliction of duty. Once sentencing is done I can discuss it more openly. You'll get all the gory details over the vid by the end of this week,” confirmed Kamarovsky. “Who is she?” he smiled.

“She who?” replied Kirk, brushing cracker crumbs from his hands over his plate. He gazed at Kamarovsky with exaggerated sweetness. Kamarovsky chuckled.

“She who you lookin' for so hard,” he misspoke deliberately. He winked at Kirk.

“Oh, Haddon,” said Kirk, with mock seriousness. “We've been out of touch for so long, I guess you didn't know.” Kamarovsky peered at Kirk with lilting eyebrows.

“Went and got myself bonded,” said Kirk, looking down. He looked back up at Kamarovsky's astonished expression, and nodded vigorously. “Yep. Yep, I did it. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but I did it.”

Kamarovsky sat back against his chair and folded his arms over his chest. As he did so, Kirk noticed the gleam of what appeared to be a gold bracelet on Kamarovsky's wrist. It looked extremely expensive.

“Did you, now?” Kamarovsky nodded his head in bemusement. “And who might the lucky little filly be? Someone you met on some planet? A perky little extraterrestrial? Or a 'Fleet somebody?”

Kirk pursed his lips in an effort to contain his own hilarity. He hesitated for several minutes and then, looking around him, replied, “I don't know how lucky he is, yes, he's certainly a 'Fleet somebody, and he's about as extraterrestrial as one can get. Not too little, however, nor would anyone necessarily describe him as 'perky'.” 

He flashed a somewhat insincere grin at Kamarovsky.

“You're joking, right? Him? Did I hear you right? Just what've you been up to, anyway, J.T.?”demanded Kamarovsky, unfolding his arms from his chest and sitting upright.

“I'm so sorry, Haddon. I don't know what happened. I swear I don't. We serve together aboard the _Enterprise_ , he's my First Officer and Science Officer, and we've known one another for almost four years now, and in about six more weeks we'll have been bonded for a whole year.” Kirk looked directly into Kamarovsky's eyes, sitting primly, his hands folded on the table.

“Oh. My. Ghod.” Kamarovsky sat perfectly still, looking Kirk up and down, then burst into a booming laugh. He laughed uproariously for several moments, and leaned forward and grabbed Kirk in both arms, embracing him tightly. They rocked from side to side like that for some moments.

“J.T. Oh, man, J.T. Congratulations, man,” murmured Kamarovsky, sniffling, his eyes brimful.

Kirk returned the embrace enthusiastically.

“Thanks, Haddon,” he replied, in a whisper, sighing. Both men pulled apart slowly and sat looking at one another.

“Wow,” nodded Kamarovsky, shaking his head in wonder. Kirk sat politely and beamed.

“You gotta come on up to my room and have a drink, man, we gotta spend some time together talking. You can't just drop a photon bomb on a man like this and expect to just walk away,” urged Kamarovsky, digging in the pocket of his uniform trousers, searching for his credit chip. Kirk smirked.

“I'd love to, Haddon, but Spock---” he hesitated, “---that's my bondmate's name---Spock is due to arrive here any minute, and I want to meet him here in the lobby. Maybe grab some dinner. I was trying to shop earlier, pick up something for our anniversary, but the humidity here is sort of draining, don't you think?” Kirk watched as Kamarovsky inserted his chip into the payment slot on the table and withdrew it, returning it to his pocket as he stood up.

“Oh, he's coming here? Damn, I'd like to meet him. Spock, did you say? What a cool name, you said he's an extraterrestrial, where's he---” began Kamarovsky, and stopped, as comprehension seized him. “Spock...that's an interesting name...you said he was non-Terran...” 

Kamarovsky looked straight into Kirk's face, as the captain stood.

“Yeah, you know,” mentioned Kirk, nonchalantly waving his hands aimlessly. “He's a Vulcan.” Kirk looked around to the concierge again, then turned back to face Kamarovsky, whose mouth was now wide open.

“A Vulcan,” stated Kamarovsky. “You not only hooked up with another 'Fleet commander, you hooked up with a Vulcan.” He stared at Kirk, incredulous. Kamarovsky placed his hands on his hips and stared into Kirk's face. Kirk smiled fractionally, holding out his hands.

“Alright, J.T., that's it,” demanded Kamarovsky. “You're coming with me, that's it, we're going to my room and we're going to have a good talk, period.” Kirk smiled broadly.

“What? What?” he asked, helplessly. “But Spock will be here any minute...”

“Yeah, so what. You've got your communicator with you, I'm assuming he knows how to contact you, right?” Kamarovsky began to turn toward the exit to the restaurant. Kirk followed.

“Of course he knows how to contact me, Haddon, what are you trying to say?” They strode through the lobby of the Nova Regula, squeezing through the throng of people that were gathering there, and stood at the lift.

“What floor are you staying on, anyway?” asked Kirk. The lift arrived, and its doors slid open. The two men stepped inside, along with several other passengers.

“Ten,” replied Kamarovsky, lifting a hand to press the appropriate panel and dropping it when another passenger pressed it instead. Kirk looked at him and smiled.

“Same floor as me,” he said, and corrected himself. “I mean us. Same floor as us, Spock and I, that is. When he gets here, we'll both be on ten.” Kamarovsky glanced at him affectionately and shook his head.

They entered Kamarovsky's suite, Kirk noting that it looked almost identical to Kirk's own. The muted colors, the sumptuous furnishings, the oversized chairs and the enormous bed. The difference was the view. Whereas the view from Kirk's suite faced the main thoroughfare of the city, Kamarovsky's was more serene, facing the beautifully landscaped garden of the hotel, with its extensive topiary and large, specially designed flowers, their vivid colors exposed to the brilliance of the Regulan sun.

Kirk sank into one of the deeply upholstered cream-colored chairs. Kamarovsky brought over two short, wide mouthed glasses and a rather plump bottle of some darkly amber fluid.

“Saurian brandy,” he suggested, offering Kirk one of the glasses, but Kirk negated his head.

“No, no, Haddon, I don't think I should. I probably had a little too much of that champagne, too, and I haven't had any supper yet. Spock and I are planning to dine together this evening,” declined Kirk to Kamarovsky's offer of the bottle. Kamarovsky shrugged, poured some for himself and setting the bottle down on the low, square, glass-topped table in front of them, sat down on the other chair, facing Kirk.

“I see,” he responded, stretching his long legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankle. Reaching up, he unclasped several of the closures of his tunic, exposing his chest.

“Would you care to join us?” invited Kirk. “I'm sure he'd love to meet you. He's very sociable, you know. Knows something about almost everything, been all over the quadrant...” His words faded as he gazed at Kamarovsky's knowing expression. Kamarovsky sipped at his brandy and looked at Kirk, his eyes smiling, but not his lips.

“Sociable, huh?” he snorted. “Doesn't sound very Vulcan to me.” He took another sip.

“No, well, that's probably because he's only half Vulcan, you see,” explained Kirk, gazing at Kamarovsky. “That's right, Haddon. His mother is Terran, but he was brought up and educated on Vulcan. His parents---my parents-in-bond, that is---still live there.” He tipped to the side, leaning his arm against the armrest of the chair, propping his head on his hand, continuing to meet Kamarovsky's gaze with his own.

“Oh, really? What do his parents do?” asked Kamarovsky, holding his drink on one thigh.

“His mother was a teacher for a long time, and his father is the Vulcan ambassador to the Federation,” replied Kirk. He was beginning to feel drowsy, the coolness of the air conditioning in Kamarovsky's suite lulling him into a deeply relaxed state. The ethanol he'd imbibed enabled him to feel extremely relaxed.

“His father is the Vulcan ambassador to the Federation?” asked Kamarovsky, with interest.

“You're telling me his father is Ambassador Sarek?” Kirk looked sleepily at Kamarovsky, nodding his head in verification.

“You're telling me that you bonded with the son of Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan, _the_ Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan?” Kamarovsky stared at Kirk in amazement. Kirk nodded again.

“You are bonded to and are now related to the son and the family of the famous Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan?” Kamarovsky placed his glass of Saurian brandy down on the table.

Kirk nodded, his face expressionless, his golden eyes slightly widened. Kamarovsky sighed, and walked over to Kirk. He squatted down in front of him and placed his hands on Kirk's knees.

“You,” said Kamarovsky, placidly, “are a maniac. You always were, even at the Academy, the quiet one, Mr. Bookworm, got no time to date, gotta study, got no time to get laid, gotta study. But _I_ always knew, that deep down inside, you were a maniac. And this proves it.” He glared at Kirk for a moment, then burst into wild laughter. Kirk continued to stare at him, and finally began to laugh as well.

“Ghod, J.T.,” whistled Kamarovsky. “Ghod!” He moved and sat on the arm of Kirk's chair.

“Yes,” agreed Kirk, after a few moments of silence. “Ghod, indeed.” 

The silence deepened, and dragged on for several more moments. Kamarovsky retained his perch on the arm of Kirk's chair, and sighed.

“Well, well,” he murmured. He reached out and lightly stroked the top of Kirk's hair.

“I hope you're happy, J.T.,” he remarked, a bit wistfully. Kirk looked up at him and nodded, smiling. “I mean really, _really_ happy.” Kirk placed a hand on Kamarovsky's thigh.

“I am, Haddon,” he replied, reassuringly. “I really, really am.” Kamarovsky smoothed Kirk's hair in place, his fawn eyes glistening.

“Haddon, are you okay?” asked Kirk, concerned. Kamarovsky smiled fractionally, and took his hand down. Rising from the arm of the chair, he walked over to a chest in the room and opened the top drawer. Pulling something out, he returned to where Kirk was seated, and handed him a medium-sized holograph, framed in dark, Terran wood. Teak, by the look and feel of it.

A handsome, young man with a dark, brown complexion smiled enigmatically from the holo, his braided hair pulled back into a severe tail, clasped at the nape. He was wearing a leather string around his neck, and from it hung what appeared to be a fetish, a small carving. His hand was up near his face, his chin resting in his palm. On his wrist he wore a shiny, well-made gold bracelet.

Kirk looked at Haddon, and noticed the bracelet Haddon also wore on his own wrist. Haddon smiled at him.

“Djimon?” inquired Kirk, in a low voice. Haddon nodded in assent, but stopped smiling, and gently retrieved the holograph from Kirk's hands.

“Yes, J.T. Djimon.” He gazed into the face of the holograph, stroking it absentmindedly with the pad of his thumb. “This was taken about a year before...”

Kirk peered at Kamarovsky, and at the holograph. Djimon Achebe. The student at Berkeley whom Kamarovsky used to date while they were still at the Academy. Apparently they'd been together for a long time. Kirk realized it must have ended badly.

“How long?” he asked gently, while placing a hand over Kamarovsky's, the hand which held the holograph.

“He's been gone for four years now, J.T.” replied Kamarovsky. “We were married for six. Our tenth anniversary would be in six weeks from now.” Kirk closed his eyes, momentarily, before looking back up at Kamarovsky.

“What happened, Hadd?” Kirk asked; his interest was genuine, he remembered those days when they were cadets and how quickly his friend had fallen in love with the lively student from Berkeley.

“He was going up for another doctorate, this time traveling back and forth to the University of Interplanetary Agronomy, in Cestus, on Antares. He'd be there for five months, then he'd be back at our ranch in Western Old Senegal, about forty miles northwest of Drakar, with me, for another five months. I only pursued cases for the JAG in the ninth quadrant a few months out of every solar year, and I did clerking for the JAG's office Earthside, in Drakar. We saw one another as often as we could. We had a good life, J.T.” explained Kamarovsky. “A damned good life.”

He stood and walked over to the chest, placing the framed holograph down.

“He was in Old Senegal, doing some research at home for his dissertation, and I was on Earth as well, but not in Old Senegal. I was in San Francisco, co-chairing a symposium on legal ethics and the mission of Starfleet. I got a call to fly home as quickly as possible, that Djimon had been in an accident, there at the house, and that he was severely injured.” 

Kamarovsky turned to face Kirk, who turned around in his chair to better regard his friend.

“Long story short, J.T., Djimon had fallen from the deck we had in the aviary. He loved wild birds, as did I, and so we had this fabulous aviary installed in our house. He liked to go back there and sit and read, think, observe our birds. We had over fifty different species living in the aviary, living in our home with us. He tripped over some wiring that he probably forgot to put away, and fell right over the railing and down the stairs. Like forty-four steps. He suffered a traumatic brain injury---TBI.”

Kirk closed his eyes as he heard this. He knew what the likely outcome could be with a TBI, had seen it far too many times on tragic landing parties he'd commanded. Crew who'd fallen, or been struck by falling debris, or assaulted by phaser fire, or small photon-powered incendiaries.

“He lived for about six months following the accident. They kept him alive, but he never really woke up. His eyes opened a couple of times, but he didn't know me. Finally, I requested that they let him go, give him peace. And so they did. That was four years ago.”

Silence hung over the room for a very long time. Kirk remained seated, still gazing at Kamarovsky, who remained standing, leaning his back against the tall chest. Finally, Kirk rose.

“Haddon,” he appealed, holding out his arms to Kamarovsky, who folded himself within them, collapsing against Kirk's chest, sniffling. They remained standing there, before Kirk eased the two of them back over to the sitting area, sinking them both into one of the oversized chairs.

Squeezed in together, they huddled, Kamarovsky's dark head bowed against Kirk's shoulder.

“Haddon,” whispered Kirk. “Haddon, I am so sorry. So very, very sorry.”

“Thank you, J.T. Excuse me,” said Kamarovsky, lifting his head and peering into Kirk's eyes.

“I didn't mean to get all mushy on you.” 

Kirk grinned and embraced his friend warmly.

“I'm grateful you shared your sorrow with me, Hadd. That's what friends are for, right?” Kirk lightly punched Kamarovsky in the center of his chest. His knuckles connected gently with Kamarovsky's warm, slightly perspiring skin. Kirk noticed the gold bracelet again.

“I noticed Djimon wearing the same bracelet in the holo,” said Kirk, tapping at Kamarovsky's with the tip of his index finger. Kamarovsky nodded.

“Right. They were our handfasting symbols. Ring of life, pressed always against the pulse. We didn't use finger rings, although my parents had purchased a ridiculously expensive set for us. Those we kept just for show when they came around, which wasn't often.” 

Kamarovsky's father, Captain Bennett Kamarovsky, had been commander of the _USS Gargarin_ for more than fifteen years. He was retired Rear Admiral Kamarovsky now, living with his second wife on Canopus V.

“Spock and I don't use our rings, either,” noted Kirk. “I mean we have them, and we used them at our bonding ceremony, but we don't wear them all the time. I feel like because of our link and our bond, we don't need to wear the rings. We don't need public affirmation of what we are to one another. People who see us usually get the message that we’re together, as a couple, sooner or later. Usually sooner,” he continued. 

Kamarovsky lightly stroked Kirk's cheek with the back of his knuckles.

“You were always this golden boy,” said Kamarovsky, fondness filling his deep voice. “You were always this boy who had so much sensitivity and compassion, but you were such a scrapper, too. Wouldn't let anyone push you around or tell you what to do. Not even that asshole Finnegan and his shithead cronies.”'

Kirk smiled, his hazel eyes twinkling. 

“Well, I couldn't have looked myself in the mirror if I'd let Finnegan and his antics get me down, now could I, Hadd?” 

Kamarovsky shook his head and embraced Kirk warmly again. Kirk returned the embrace, snuggling against Kamarovsky's fragrant chest, his cheek sliding against his former classmate’s moist, bare skin. Kirk remained enclosed within Kamarovsky's arms for a few moments, until he felt a hot rigidity pressing against his groin. 

He glanced up at Kamarovsky, who stood perfectly still, holding Kirk tightly, his eyes closed.

“Haddon,” murmured Kirk, pulling away, fractionally. Kamarovsky maintained the tight embrace. “Haddon,” repeated Kirk, again moving away, just a little.

“My ghod, Jim, it's been so long, so long, so long...” Kamarovsky began to sob, his shoulders shaking gently with effort. His erection pressed insistently against Kirk's abdomen, but Kirk remained still, no longer pulling away. He waited for Kamarovsky to get himself under control.

“You were always such a beautiful, golden boy, J.T.”, Kamarovsky murmured again. He relaxed his hold on Kirk, who moved away fractionally. Kirk stood still for a moment, running the pad of his thumb across his right eyebrow.

“Haddon, I have to get ready to go. I need to meet Spock,” he explained, his hand dropping down by his side. “Why don't you come down to dinner with both of us? Meet Spock, spend some time with us? You don't have to be up here...alone.” 

He waited while Kamarovsky unsnapped the remainder of the closures on his tunic, baring his chest completely. His chest, like Kirk's, was completely devoid of hair, and the smooth mahogany areola were puckered, the buds elongated, pointed. Kirk looked at them, then back up at Kamarovsky's face, which was serene, expressionless.

“Oh, Haddon,” began Kirk, his hands held by his sides. “Haddon, I'm so sorry about Djimon, and I can only imagine what it must've been like for you, all these years. But I'm bonded, now, Hadd, and not only am I bonded, but I'm in love.” Kamarovsky continued gazing at Kirk, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, breathing fractionally more heavily than he had before he'd begun to break down.

“You're so fucking beautiful, J.T.,” he whispered. “I can only hope your Vulcan appreciates you the way he should. Nobody should ever hurt you, J.T. _Nobody_. You're too fucking beautiful.”

Kirk turned slowly and walked toward the door of the suite, his palms sweating profusely, his heart racing. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood up, he could feel Kamarovsky's eyes boring a hole into his back. He reached the door and put his hand on the small panel which would activate it.

“J.T.,” breathed Kamarovsky, suddenly beside Kirk at the door, his shirt falling from one shoulder, his dusky chest shimmering heavily with perspiration. “J.T.,” the prosecutor repeated. “Stay with me. Please, J.T. Just for one hour, just for old times' sake.” He reached out and placed his hand on the back of Kirk's hot neck, pulling the captain toward him in a swift, sudden motion.

Kirk allowed himself to be jerked backward, offering no resistance. He felt Kamarovsky's warm, plush lips brush against his, then winced as his friend nipped at his lower lip, licking it lightly before pulling his mouth away. Kirk glared at him, but didn't move.

“Think of me tonight when your spouse mounts you, J.T. Think of me, and my man, and be happy for yourself and yours,” said Kamarovsky, loudly, as the door to the suite slid open. Kirk looked at him, lifting a finger to his lightly bleeding lower lip, and turned to walk into the corridor.

He turned, and looked right into the face of his First Officer.

“Spock!” he cried out. Spock said nothing, only stared at Kirk for a long time, his hands at his sides. His eyes revealed the sharpness of an unexpected pain, but his face remained unreadable, completely neutral and mysteriously remote. Kirk turned toward Kamarovsky, who continued to linger in the doorway, his tunic completely undone, one shoulder and arm bare. An infinitesimal droplet of the blood from Kirk's lip shone upon Kamarovsky's as well.

“Spock, this is my old schoolmate from the Academy, Haddon Kamarovsky,” offered Kirk, rubbing his hands together, anxiously. He turned to Kamarovsky, facing him with a withering glare.

“Haddon, this is Commander Spock, my---my bondmate, my first---First Officer,” he stuttered out in Kamarovsky's direction. Both men appraised one another somberly, Kamarovsky narrowing his almond shaped eyes, Spock's nostrils flaring, slightly.

“I've invited Hadd to come down to dinner with us, Spock,” mentioned Kirk, with a somewhat sheepish half-smile. He looked back at Kamarovsky, who was slowly moving backward into his suite.

“Nice to meet you, Spock. Another time, J.T. Another time,” he said, retreating further back, and finally closing the door completely with a soft thud. Kirk continued to stare at the door for a moment, before turning quickly to Spock, and wringing his hands.

“Ghods, it's so good to see you!” he walked up to his bondmate, standing directly before him.

“Indeed,” was all that Spock would say, before turning on his heel and striding down the hall toward their suite, leaving an astonished and slightly frightened Kirk behind. Not wishing to make a scene in the corridor of the posh establishment, Kirk made haste to follow.

They said nothing to one another all through dinner, seated together in an intimately lit corner of the hotel restaurant, which was respectably full, but not overly crowded.

“I have the itinerary for tomorrow's official activities,” mentioned Kirk, in guarded tones, gazing at Spock while the Vulcan munched quietly and thoughtfully on his green salad, not looking at Kirk even once during their meal. Kirk took a sip of the cool fruit spritzer he'd been toying with, and began prattling.

“I thought maybe after we conclude our business with the Second Minister's office, we might do some sightseeing or even a little shopping. We could rent an air car and head out to the country side, they've got the most amazing architectural ruins out there, and then there's the Bureau of Architectural Design, I believe their administrator is going to be present tomorrow evening at the banquet---”

Spock finished his salad, and rose from the table after delicately wiping his mouth with the silk napkin that had been provided. Without looking down at his bondmate, he addressed Kirk in a detached tone of voice.

“I find myself feeling fatigued. If you will excuse me, _adun_ , I shall return now to our suite and go to bed.” 

Kirk looked up at him, surprised, hurt and annoyed.

“Wait, isn't it a bit early for bed? Okay, maybe you're tired, you haven't been getting all that much sleep lately, and come to think of it, I---”but he found himself talking to Spock's back, as the tall, slender Vulcan turned and walked swiftly from the restaurant, toward the hotel lift. Kirk glanced around surreptitiously, wondering if anyone else noticed he was essentially talking to himself, quickly slipped his 'Fleet voucher chip into the payment slot on top of their table, threw down his napkin, and hustled out to the lobby, in pursuit of his bondmate, who, by the time Kirk reached the lift, was long gone.

Kirk spent a cool, quiet night in bed next to his unthawed bondmate. He tried once again to explain to Spock how it was with Kamarovsky, that it was an innocent misunderstanding, that his friend was grieving, not thinking clearly and very much in a bad state, emotionally. Spock listened attentively, nodded his head in agreement with everything Kirk said, and lying down on the bed, in the nude, turned his back to Kirk and appeared to immediately fall asleep. Kirk sidled up to him, his own nude body quivering hungrily for Spock's touch, and receiving none, pressed himself against his spouse's back and fell asleep. His dreams were disturbingly erotic in nature, and around dawn, he experienced a nocturnal emission, coating Spock's tail bone with its quickly cooling, creamy result.

After a few moments, Kirk felt Spock rise out of bed and quietly pad into the ‘fresher. Kirk heard the shower go on, and rolled up into a fetal position, pulling the covers over his head.

Spock did not thaw for weeks after the incident on Regulus 3. The Second Minister was installed without a hitch, new parts for the Engineering department were appropriated right there at Regulus 3, thereby eliminating the necessity of a stopover at Starbase 12, Kirk declined to go shopping, deciding to wait on Spock's gift, and the _Enterprise_ warped out of orbit in a timely manner. Kirk was able to get transmission information from 'Jeet before the _Venture_ warped out, and they both promised to stay in touch with one another. She hadn't been able to meet Spock face to face, but she'd seen him from a distance milling about in the hotel's gift shop. Kirk had pointed him out to her, and the light in her eyes indicated that she felt the Vulcan was extremely attractive and therefore imminently worthy of her friend's devotion.

Kirk had left a message at the concierge for Haddon Kamarovsky. He'd tried calling his room, but there was no answer, and tried ringing the signal on the door to his suite, but there wasn't any answer to that, either. The concierge noted that Lt. Kamarovsky had not yet checked out, and informed the captain that he'd be more than happy to leave the lieutenant a message.

Back aboard the ship, Kirk sighed, realizing ruefully that he'd done all that he could do. A three day leave that started out so well after a dreary and utterly disappointing change in orders, that turned into yet another failure, a missed opportunity.

It seemed to Kirk that the entirety of his bonded life with Spock so far had been most of that, just one missed opportunity after another.

The bondmates continued to work somewhat effectively together, but behind closed doors were still not speaking to one another. Kirk was trying to, he spoke with Spock every day, but the Vulcan remained utterly, almost eerily, silent. He would listen considerately to his captain, his chocolate eyes haunted and therefore, haunting, but he never once responded to his bondmate. They continued to sleep together, nude, in their conjugal bunk, but Spock refused to acknowledge Kirk physically. He would permit Kirk to snuggle against him, but he would not embrace Kirk, nor kiss him in the morning, nor shower with him at night.

It was as though they had become a very old married couple, or two platonic friends who shared sleeping arrangements.

The silent treatment was beginning to drive Kirk mad, and McCoy was the one who really noticed it.

“What the hell are you two up to now?” the CMO growled at Kirk, late one afternoon as they hastily grabbed a lunch in OM2, which oddly enough was nearly empty. Officers' Mess 3 was still under reconstruction, well past the deadline for its completion. Kirk sat staring mutely at his bowl of tomato soup.

“What? Did you say something, Bones?” Kirk mumbled, not looking up.

McCoy sighed.

“No, I said nothing, absolutely nothing. Your man on the rag again, or what?” the physician nearly barked, lifting the top slice of bread on his tuna sandwich to make sure it was tuna, and not something inedible, made for one of the non-Terran crew. He'd been eating lunches with Lt. Ferron Ferron Ferron of late, but hir shift had changed again, and s/he was back on beta shift. Just as well, s/he was a nice person, but all s/he seemed interested in talking about was music and communications.

“What are you talking about?” replied Kirk, frowning. He looked at McCoyas though he wasn't sure who he was. The doctor shook his head.

“I knew this was gonna happen with you two. You’re up against a titanium wall here with this 'we can work together as a command team and still be happily bonded' bullshit,” he ranted. He took a large bite of his sandwich and grabbed hold of a napkin, grumpily wiping mayonnaise from his chin with a swift jerk.

“Look, y'all better straighten yourselves out and get to it quick. If anything gets back to Command that you've both got sticks up your butts over interpersonal communications issues, you'll be busted back down to lieutenant so quick your little bondmate won't know where the hell to find you, and his skinny kiester'll be back on Vulcan faster than you can say 'c'mere, sehlat, sehlat, sehlat'.”

Kirk stared at McCoy blankly for several minutes. Suddenly he had an epiphany, and comprehension dawned on him, hitting him square between his hazel/green eyes. He leaped up from the table and dashed from the mess, McCoy squinting after him.

That evening, after shift, Kirk sat quietly at his desk, clad in his black uniform t-shirt and his trousers, and just his black socks. His boots were neatly lined up next to Spock's spare ones in their shared closet, and the cabin generally appeared tidy and rather inviting. Kirk knew where Spock was, next door in his quarters, meditating in front of the Watcher. Spock had been meditating more and more of late, and Kirk knew why. 

The only way to put the tension between them to rest was to stage an intervention.

It was very late by the time Spock returned to Kirk's cabin, which was their preferred habitation. Kirk was still up, although extremely tired, remaining dressed as he had been several hours before. Spock moved into the cabin’s interior with stealth, halting near the bunk when he noticed that Kirk wasn't in it.

“You are awake,” Spock stated, illogically. Kirk kept his back to him, still seated at the desk.

“Yes, Spock,” he replied, rotating the chair so that he could face his phlegmatic, recalcitrant spouse. In the half-light of the office area, Kirk's face was in shadow, but the lower half of his body was softly illuminated.

Spock began to unfasten the multiple closures of his meditation robe. As he did, with a leisurely pivot, he faced Kirk.

The captain watched as one by one each closure was unclicked, and more and more of Spock's pale skin was revealed. Finally, the entire robe was completely opened, and as Spock shrugged fractionally, it drifted from his body, pooling in a black heap around his ankles. He wore no briefs, and stood quietly, regally, like the Vulcan prince that he was, offering his full frontal view to his seated bondmate.

Kirk licked his lips, unconsciously. He held his hands together tightly in his lap, resting them upon his groin. His ankles were primly crossed. His eyes traveled up and down the length of Spock's nude form, several times.

Spock slowly bent down and picked up his robe, looping it over his arm, and returned to his parade rest stance. He lowered his eyes.

Kirk watched him, and as he did, he realized with startling clarity what was going on. His cherished bondmate, his final destiny, his soul mate, was hurting. Spock, always so detached, so aloof, and precisely logical, was as sensitive as a Terran antelope. Skittish about feelings, timorous in regard to emotions, he was at a loss as to how to explain and process feelings of hurt and rejection. 

Kirk stood and walked slowly to the Vulcan, coming to stand directly in front of him, merely a breath away. Reaching up, he touched Spock gently on the chin, and tilted his head up.

“Spock,” he said, caressing the Vulcan on the side of the warm, smooth face. 

The Vulcan’s eyes continued to avert Kirk's.

“Spock, look at me,” suggested Kirk, firmly. He waited, continuing to caress his bondmate's bony jaw.

“Spock,” Kirk repeated. Spock's eyes slowly moved forward, and met Kirk's. Their gazes locked and they regarded one another for some time.

“You know, Spock, that nothing out of turn happened between me and Lieutenant Kamarovsky,” began Kirk. Spock flinched at the mention of Kamarovsky's name.

“Come on, Spock, you couldn't possibly believe that I would do something like that, could you?” Kirk asked softly, with a frown. “You've got to know me better than that. Don't you trust me?”

Spock remained silent, but didn't take his eyes away from Kirk's gaze. Kirk moved a little closer, close enough to feel the velvet softness of Spock's meditation robe slide against the skin on the back of his hand.

“You cannot love someone whom you cannot trust,” stated Kirk, flatly. He looked at Spock, waiting for the Vulcan to circumvent the logic in that statement.

“No,” agreed Spock, to Kirk's surprise. “No, you cannot. Do you trust me, Jim?”

Kirk drew himself up, lifting his chin. He moved his hand to the back of Spock's neck, pulling the Vulcan closer.

“I trust you, Spock, with my life. Without you, I have no life,” he replied, looking directly into Spock's liquid umber eyes. Spock closed those eyes, momentarily and when he opened them again, his face was open, yearning expressed upon it quite clearly. He moved closer to Kirk, still with the meditation robe slipped over his arm.

“Haddon Kamarovsky is someone I knew at the Academy, Spock,” began Kirk, inhaling. “We were very good friends, and I cared for him very much---as a friend. He met his soul mate or the love, I suppose, of his life, while we were in command school there. He was an agricultural specialist, became very well known in scientific circles around the galaxy. Haddon loved him deeply, and I think they probably were a great couple, a terrific couple. Very loving, very devoted.”

Kirk reached up with his other hand, and pressed that one to the back of Spock's neck as well, pulling gently.

“But something bad happened a few years ago, Spock,” Kirk continued. He waited, and looked away. Looking back at Spock, he related Kamarovsky’s sorrowful history.

“Haddon's spouse—-they had gotten married, you see, on Earth---Djimon---was involved in a household accident, and it was as bad one, and he was mortally injured.” Kirk waited for the information to sink into Spock's mind. He could see by the look of muted horror on Spock's face that it had.

“Djimon died slowly, over a period of months, never recognizing Haddon, and finally it ended. That was four years ago. In fact, the anniversary of Djimon's death will be around the anniversary of our first year together as bondmates.” Kirk pressed his face against Spock's bare chest, savoring the feel of the heated texture of Spock's swirled body hair.

“When you saw us together, at the hotel, I was just leaving his suite. He’d just told me the story of Djimon's death and he was grieving, going through such a damned hard time. All I could think of was how badly I wanted to see you, how badly I wanted to be near you, how desperately, selfishly happy I was that I wasn't in Haddon's position. That I wasn't grieving the permanent loss of the love of my life, the only reason I have for living my life. That was what you saw.”

Spock wrapped his arms around Kirk's shoulders, holding him tightly, robe and all. Kirk pressed his abdomen against Spock's groin, feeling the growing hardness there. He smiled.

“I thank you for telling me this, _ashal-veh_ ,” Spock whispered against the top of Kirk's head.

“However, I already knew the truth of what had transpired. I saw it in your mind.” 

Kirk jerked his head back and stared, incredulous, at his bondmate.

“You were in my mind without my permission? I thought you weren't allowed to do that, Spock!” he protested. Spock raised an eyebrow.

“After all this time that we have been together, you still refuse to learn to shield correctly. Forgive me, my Own,” he replied. With a click of his teeth in annoyed and hopeless defeat, Kirk pressed his face against Spock's chest again.

Spock assisted his captain and bondmate in divesting himself of the rest of his uniform, and the two of them lay across their bunk, with Spock's robe folded neatly at its foot, like a spare blanket.

They lay side by side, on their backs, holding hands with their shoulders touching.

“You do know what this means?” asked Kirk, his voice still and tranquil.

“Yes.”

“Tell me what it means,” requested Kirk. His bondmate turned on his side, and lay his long, leanly muscled arm across Kirk's smooth, naked chest.

“It means,” said Spock, his voice tender and sure, “that love and desire are real, and therefore palpable.”

Kirk turned his head and looked into Spock's eyes, his own eyes bright, golden and sparkling in the dim, ambient light of the sleep alcove.

“Did you say 'palatable'?” Kirk asked, frowning slightly. Spock gently kissed the captain's sleek, gleaming shoulder.

“No, my Heart. I believe that what I said was 'palpable.'” 

“Sounded like palatable,” suggested Kirk, earnestly. Spock kissed his shoulder again. He glanced down at Kirk's groin, noticing the change that was taking place. He licked his lips, and replied, 

“It could be palatable.”

Kirk smiled. “You think?”

Spock smiled in return. “Yes, _ashaya,_ I think.”

***

_...interpenetrated/ free/and reaching still toward the kiss that will / not suffocat ...we survive our love/ because we go on loving_ \- June Jordan

**Author's Note:**

> _This story was featured in the printzine anthology Legends #5, which was published by Mkashef Enterprises, Asidotheezines.com, in 2009 under the name Jeanne Marie Sosa. It is currently still availabel at www.agentwithstyle.com._


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